


One Broken Man

by ruric



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-12
Updated: 2009-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When are you going to stop running?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Broken Man

He’d seen the look on her face when she’d helped him strip the shirt from his body before Carson cut free the tracker the Wraith had embedded into his back. 

He thought he’d seen pity when she saw the mark in the center of his chest which showed where the Wraith had fed before they’d decided it would be better sport to hunt him. He’d ducked his head and looked away, the heat of a blush staining his cheeks, shamed that he carried the mark, ashamed for her to see it.

When they came back to Alantis he’d thought about avoiding her, especially after their first sparring session when John had looked at him as if he wasn’t to be trusted. But Teyla wasn’t easy to avoid and in the end it was easier to talk to her than to run away – even if the habits developed in seven years of running weren’t so easy to overcome.

Now they spar regularly, at least once every 4 days and of all the marines and civilians Ronon knows that it’s Teyla who is most likely to drop him on his ass and walk away unscathed. He doesn’t pull his blows because she asks for no quarter, equally she never checks hers.

Which is why he’s dancing a few steps backwards - sweat prickling in his hair and sliding between his shoulder blades - sucking on knuckles stinging from the blow of a staff.

She’s grinning at him as she spins close, and the flash of a long shapely leg though her cut skirt distracts him enough for her to land a sharp blow on his ribs.

He sucks a breath down into lungs that don’t want to inflate past the pain, moving to attack and raining blows down on her guard until he can see the muscles in her arms tremble. Victory is so close he can almost taste it and that’s when she twists in a way no-one should be able to, ducks under his blow, sweeps a leg behind him and his ass and back come into contact with the mats hard enough to wind him.

What he doesn’t expect is for her to follow him down.

Lean legs straddle him, her knees pressing into his waist as her weight settles on his hips. The staffs press across his chest, holding him down as she leans forward, the fall of her hair tickling his cheek.

“When are you going to stop running?”

“What?”

His tongue feels clumsy in his mouth, conscious of how little she’s wearing and how close she is. He can smell her and he wants to taste her. He should tell her to move but he’s only human.

She leans closer still and her breath is a warm hush in his ear.

“I said when...”

The press of her lips on his cheek burns down to bone and sends his brain off-line until he realises she’s kissing from his ear to his mouth, each kiss followed by a word.

”...running?

“I have.”

His fingers are digging into the mats because he knows if he lifts them they’ll be pulling her clothes free and winding into the length of her hair.

She arches a brow and sends him a look that says she doesn’t believe him and it slides into something else, something inscrutably Teyla and he knows he’ll never penetrate behind her eyes, he’ll never know what she’s thinking.

The thud of the staffs hitting the mat is loud and snaps him back but it’s too late because nimble fingers have already plucked the lacings of his shirt undone. But it’s the heat of her mouth that pulls his hands from the mats, one to tangle in her hair the other to stroke the smooth length from knee to thigh seeking the softness of her.

Some part of his mind is trying to tell him that it’s so very wrong that it’s her mouth over the feeding scar that has him hard within a heartbeat, but her hands have slipped lower, tugging at his pants and it’s all he can do to raise his hips and let her get to what she wants.

The wet heat of her sinks down onto him and comes damn close to stopping his heart between one breath and the next. His hands close on her hips, supporting her and he could lift her so easily. He wants to slow her down, to make this as good for her as he can. But his body is wresting control from his mind, plunging into a pit that is want and need and _now_...and Teyla does this like she spars, no quarter given, no mercy extended.

Her hands close on his arms, fingers digging deep into muscle her body tightening around him.

“Stop running.”

And as easily as that, he does.


End file.
